The Garden
by boney
Summary: Aziraphale thinks that he and Crowley should get married for tax reasons, and the Anti-Christ (according to Upstairs and Downstairs) is officially Not Evil Enough. In an effort to force the boy into realizing his destiny, Adam Young's parents are killed in a car accident that wasn't really an accident. Convincing the Anti-Christ to save Earth shouldn't be THAT difficult.


"You don't suppose we should get married?" Aziraphale suggested conversationally one sunny afternoon over tea. Crowley, who had been lounging across from him on one of the antique chaises scattered about the living area of Aziraphale's bookshop and seeing how many bottles of scotch he could down in the time it took for the angel to finish his Pekoe, spluttered and dropped the bottle directly on the floor. It shattered and sent glass and alcohol across the entire room. Aziraphale gave him a stern look and snapped his fingers, the bottle becoming whole and full again, sitting innocently on the antique carpet.

"Excuse me," Crowley slurred, wincing as he sobered up, "you're... I'm not just drunkenly imagining things, you really did just say that we should get married, didn't you?"

"Yes! I did!" Aziraphale continued calmly.

Now fully sober, Crowley leaned forward and narrowed his eyes.

"Are you... Did you see a prank or something and now you're trying to recreate it?" he asked suspiciously.

"What? No!" Aziraphale exclaimed, rolling his eyes. He poured himself another cup of tea and continued briskly.

"We are together constantly, and in this day and age, it begs more scrutiny than it used to because gay people can marry and the internet has made people nosier than they've ever been," he huffed, "yesterday a woman came in here just to try and see if I was married, and when I said I wasn't, she _actually_ mentioned you."

Crowley wasn't convinced. "You sure it wasn't an angel or a demon in disguise trying to lure you into confessing something?" he asked, leaning forward and taking a full teacup, bringing it to his lips.

"No, she was totally human. Just hear me out, dear. Firstly, we are the only two otherworldly beings who are permanently stationed on earth. Secondly, we spend weeks on end with one another. Thirdly, we could get quite a tax break if we combined our finances."

Crowley swallowed the scalding hot tea and stared up in shock at Aziraphale. "What... Are we just gonna waltz up to the HSBC and open a shared account?! And anyways, isn't avoiding taxes kind of... _My_ peoples thing?"

"There is no heavenly good in a state that taxes people but not corporations," Aziraphale sniffed.

Crowley snorted and shook his head.

"But really, it would just makes sense if we had a shared address. You always end up here anyways, what would be the difference?" Aziraphale continued.

"Oh! Oh! So I'm movin' into your place now, am I? What about my flat? I'll have you know it took me quite a few bribes to get that flat."

"Oh, Crowley, you can keep the flat! It will be good equity."

"Equity?!" Crowley had a deep impression that Aziraphale had finally found his sense of mischief and was using it on him now.

The restaurant was always lit somewhat dimly, but that wasn't a problem for the otherworldly eyes of the demon and the angel who frequented there. Crowley didn't enjoy eating as much as Aziraphale did, but he did enjoy the variety of liquors he got to peruse when he and his adversary took their meals together. According to Aziraphale, this restaurant served positively "delicious" lobster. Crowley had taken one look at the scorched red buggers and had zero interest in ever putting one in his mouth. It still amazed him the things that humans were willing to eat. He was almost certain the Almighty had not created lobsters for the express purpose of human consumption (let alone angelic consumption), but here they were– A room full of humans (and one delighted angel) gorging themselves on nasty little ocean bugs for exorbitant prices.

"I'm serious, you know," Aziraphale interjected after a few minutes of silence, "Nowadays, it's easier just to say that we're married to each other than it is for us to try and explain away a relationship that is obviously there."

Crowley looked up from his expensive red wine and leaned back in his chair, his eyebrows raised. When Aziraphale wanted to make a point he was quite dogged about it, mentioning it over and over until Crowley finally gave it his attention. Still, this was something he had genuinely thought was the angel's poor attempt at a practical joke. His continued pursuit of the subject made him now think otherwise.

"You were serious," Crowley stated, astonishment creeping into his voice, "you are _actually serious_ about us getting married?"

"I am," Aziraphale said, smiling and nodding at him genially, "I think we'd make an… Ahh, striking couple, don't you think?"

"You're completely daft," Crowley laughed, putting down his wine and crossing his arms, "you'd really be legally married under God to a demon of hell just so you can have the convenience of not having to answer questions?"

"Not just that, Crowley... You're simplifying it a bit I think... just overshooting the bigger picture," Aziraphale mumbled lowly, not looking Crowley in the eye.

Crowley was struck dumb. He felt something pass between them that he couldn't fathom, but it was there, the same bright warmth radiating from the angel's body when he entered a place he knew was loved. Crowley swallowed hard, though he didn't need to. His mind fizzed and popped with all sorts of unimaginable images and emotions and he stood up suddenly, knocking the table and sending a pitcher of water over, soaking the tablecloth.

"I gotta... I'll be right back," he said haltingly, his voice distracted. He swept his eyes across Aziraphale, who was looking at him in a mixture of hurt and concern, before turning his back on the angel and walking away. He walked as if he were in a dream, out of the restaurant, blindly walking the streets of London, until he stopped and blinked. He had done a few circles and ended up directly across the street from The Ritz. He looked to his right and jumped, startled, gazing in a window display that showed him glittering necklaces, earrings, and rings. A jewelry store. Had he been played for a fool? Had Aziraphale purposefully chosen this restaurant for its proximity to a jewelry store? Crowley shook his head and snorted. No, that wasn't his style. He just wanted really good lobster. It was just a coincidence.

His feet took him inside.

"Hello, welcome to Ritz Fine Jewelry," greeted a pretty young woman, "Can I help you find anything in particular?"

Crowley smiled thinly up at her, his shoulders slagging. "Uh. Yeah, rings. I'm lookin' for a ring."

The woman was well trained. She smiled widely. "Oh, is it for an engagement, sir?" she asked him conspiratorially, leaning in across the glittering glass countertop.

"Yeah. An...Engagement uh.. Thing. Money's not an issue. Just need a ring."

"Oh, how exciting!" the woman enthused, and Crowley heard the tired note in her voice. He had come in ten minutes to closing time and usually the selection of a ring took far longer than the ten minutes she would likely be paid. He _was_ a demon, after all.

"Follow me," she said, walking toward the back of the store. She gestured towards the central back case, where he knew all of their most expensive options were kept. They glittered beneath his dark glasses and he roved over them, making a show of being undecided as the minutes ticked on towards the end of the woman's shift. She was just about to open her mouth to gently try and kick him out of the store when he spoke up.

"Can I see those three?" he asked her, smiling. She smiled wanly and opened the case, bringing out the three he had selected. They were sort of gaudy, but that was Aziraphale in a nutshell. Soft and sort of gaudy. Something told him that Aziraphale would hate diamonds, and he was tempted to buy the biggest diamond the store carried just for the sake of annoying him. Five minutes past her shift, the woman was beginning to lose patience.

"Perhaps we could book an appointment—"

"Sorry, my partner, he's... He's actually in the restaurant here and I just sort of decided I'd nip over here and get a ring... Said I was going for more wine."

The woman actually smiled genuinely this time, and Crowley blinked in surprise. He had expected his explanation to cause her to become even more impatient— Impatient at his lack of foresight which was cutting into her personal time. Instead, something seemed to click inside of her and she warmed up from being a cool, detached customer service drone to a human being.

"That's really sweet, actually. I have a girlfriend waiting for me at home. She'll think this is really cute."

Crowley blinked a few times and realized it was the fact that he'd identified his supposed fiancée to be as a 'he' while Crowley himself was presenting as a 'he.' She thought they were gay, like she was. Crowley grinned at her. Being a lesbian working in a diamond store must be an unimaginable hell... Watching beautiful women get engaged to idiot men who didn't respect them and couldn't find the clitoris if they were given a diagram? He shook his head and decided to wrap up his little shopping trip in solidarity for her suffering. He had picked the gaudiest diamond ring he could see, and was being rung through when another one caught his eye. He wandered over to it as the woman processed the transaction and gave it a look. He pulled up his glasses slightly to take it in. It was a very simple ring, gold, without any precious stones. Instead, it was carved with extremely delicate vines that snaked along the ring's flat polished surface.

"Sir?"

He realized the woman had been calling him and he hadn't answered.

"Oh yeah. Uh."

He looked from the cash register to the simple ring and felt like he had lost his breath.

"I'm sorry... I think—"

"You actually want to propose instead of just doing it to make him happy?" she finished for him, grinning as thought she'd hoped this would happen.

"Uh," Crowley swallowed, "something like that."

He pointed out the ring that had caught his eye and he bought it, declining the case that went with it and taking it away in his pocket. He had also nicked the gigantic diamond one while the girl wasn't looking. _His_ ring couldn't be paid for. That would be just wrong.

"Can I ask why you picked that one?" The woman asked him, walking with him to the door so she could officially close the store.

"We met in a garden," he told her, telling the truth. It didn't matter that the garden in question was Eden and not his friend's back garden— They were gardens, all the same.

She smiled and nodded. "Good luck, love."

He waved as he left the shop, feeling like he was in completely new territory that he didn't recognize and was being forced to give directions. He re-entered the restaurant and found Aziraphale sitting alone where Crowley had left him. He didn't see him come back in, and was staring, lost in thought, at a spot on the wall. The soft candlelight played on his face and light clothing. It was getting dark, eventide sweeping gently across the world outside of the restaurant windows. He was holding a cup of wine but wasn't drinking, his brows furrowed slightly as though he were thinking of something that was bothering him that he couldn't figure out.

Crowley grabbed a bottle of expensive champagne from an unattended cart for good measure and sauntered over to their table, sitting down with a pleased sigh that smacked of a calm contentedness that he did not feel.

"Miss me?" he teased Aziraphale, flicking the cork off the champagne with a snap of his fingers, spraying the bubbling drink across his hand on the neck of the bottle. He sloppily poured Aziraphale a glass, ignoring his wine, and poured another for himself.

Aziraphale gave him a pained, annoyed look. "Really, Crowley... Where did you go?"

He put his wine to the side (it wasn't his favourite drink) and took the champagne, sipping it as he gazed at Crowley expectantly.

"Dunno. Needed a walk. Feeling cagey lately."

Aziraphale's expression softened and became sympathetic. Crowley swallowed and had to look away. He was grateful for his choice to wear dark glasses. A few qualities which angels possessed were a keen ability to read emotions, and, especially, read eyes. Other than the fact that his slitted, snakelike eyes often caused a stir, it was partly the reason he had started to wear them once they had been invented.

"I understand. We've been here for quite a while, haven't we Crowley?"

"Yeah."

"Are you getting bored, dear?"

Crowley readjusted himself in his chair, trying to get comfortable. He felt coiled and tense, and strangely warm.

"No, no... Not bored. Time is... Time's whatever, right? Doesn't matter to either of us."

The truth was that Crowley was far from bored. Being propositioned by an angel tended to spice things up a bit, but he wasn't about to admit that.

Aziraphale seemed guilty. "Did I upset you, Crowley? I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

Crowley blinked and tilted his head. "No! No, that didn't upset me. That's not it. I dunno. Whatever. I'm fine now. I'm good." He played with the vine carved ring in his pocket. He could give Aziraphale the ring. In his other pocket, the gaudy diamond ring sat. He could give Aziraphale this ring too— The humour would save him, show that he was both overly opulent and mocked the angel's sensibilities regarding their arrangement. He licked his lips slightly, not touching his champagne. The silence between them was tense, an unusual state of being for their clandestine meetings.

"Would you like to leave?" Aziraphale asked him tentatively.

Crowley rubbed his head. The restaurant seemed almost too warm— and considering he had been burnt in hellfire, that was saying something. Aziraphale didn't seem bothered by the temperature in the room. Was it just him? Was he sweating? Could demons who have been given bodies even do that? He felt like he had rocks in his throat. He was almost certain he didn't have an actual physical heart that pumped blood but he could swear he could feel one slamming itself against his chest. The hand in his pocket seemed to be seared by the ring's heat.

"Are you alright?" Aziraphale asked him in a low voice, leaning forward, his brows knitted together, trying to discern what had gotten into his usually suave and collected friend.

"Yeah. I'm fine. We should get out of here."

A/N: Major shout out to who let me know my original publication of this was completely not formatting properly what so ever lmao. thanks boo! now you can actually read the story tm lmao.


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